You Taught Me How To Be Someone
by Keesha
Summary: Entry for the February "Fete des Mousquetaires Challenge, Despair." Athos wonders what comes next. Set in the modern universe.


"Shut the door please, Athos," Treville commanded, not looking up from the paperwork resting on his government stock, modular, desk unit.

As Athos pulled the door closed behind him, he wondered about the architects that designed this building with large, glass, top-to-bottom windows in all the doors. He remembered the first time the 902nd had come in to brief the workforce about security procedures for their new building. The briefer had suggested in an active shooter situation that they _not_ take shelter in their offices or for that matter any of the conference rooms, labs, or supply rooms because they all had glass doors. The briefer had made it sound like they should just hang a target around their necks rather than hide behind a _transparent_ object.

Athos had remembered thinking that the only other areas in which to take shelter were the bathrooms, which thankfully did not have see-through doors, but couldn't be locked, and the mechanical rooms, which had solid doors, but were kept locked. The rest of the work space was a cubical farm and the military intelligence officer had told a tale of what happened to people who hid under their desks, drawing an analogy to fish in a barrel.

Right after that briefing, everyone had run out and bought shades for their fish-bowl doors, as well as the conference rooms. Well, actually most people did. A few raided the printers and taped dozen of blank, white, 8 x 11 sheets of paper over the glass, which of course led to an email on the proper usage of government supplies. Still, they now had peace of mind and places to hide.

Hearing Treville clearing throat, Athos sheepishly realized he had let his mind wander. He quickly moved to the front of his boss' desk and sat in the standard issue government chair, which incidentally was the most uncomfortable, ergonomically designed chair on the face of the earth. Treville closed the universal, government, beige, manila folder on his desk, which was made by prisoners, and ran a weary hand over his face. It didn't take a mind reader to know whatever was about to come out of Treville's mouth was not going to be good.

Casting his mind back over the last few weeks, Athos couldn't think of any transgressions he or his team had made that could have possibly come to their commander's attention. Correction, any major infractions that would put such a grim look on his boss' countenance. There had been the incident with Porthos and the government vehicle, but he thought they had explained that mishap to everyone's satisfaction. The prank email had only made it to a few people before Athos had seen it and demanded their computer genius, D'Artagnan, clear it off the servers, which wasn't hard since the boy had been the originator. Then, of course, there was Aramis and the elevator, but since there were no cameras, it was all really hear-say and Aramis had sworn nothing untold occurred behind those closed doors. So what came out of Treville's mouth was a total shock and sent Athos' soul into the depths of despair.

Never one to beat around the bush, Treville came straight to the point. "Athos, your security clearance has been revoked and as such, you can no longer work for this agency."

"I see," Athos said slowly, as his panicked brain tried to process this information. The one transgression he hadn't thought of, his drinking. "The ruling..."

Tapping his forefinger on the innocent looking folder on his desk, Treville dashed the last of Athos' hopes. "...is final, not negotiable. As you know all positions in this agency require top secret clearances and without one..."

"I'm finished," Athos bitterly declared. His arrest for drunk and disorderly had been the final straw.

Treville softened his voice. "I wish there was something I could do."

Rising from his chair with the elegance that personified him, Athos dipped his head to acknowledge the sentiment. "This is no one's doing but my own. I understand, as well as the next man, that I could be _compromised_ , and that my drinking is a _weakness_ that affects the safety of my fellow man and my country. When do I need to vacate the premises?"

Athos didn't think Treville could get any more miserable looking, but he did. The usually cool and collected man was actually squirming in his chair. "There are two armed guards outside in the hall. They will escort you to your desk. You will gather your personal belongings. After you are done, they will see you to Personnel to complete some paperwork and then you will be taken out of the building."

Athos let out a mirthless chuckle. Of course, there would be paperwork to complete to be fired from the government.

"I'll need your CAC, shield, and lab access badge. Your service piece?"

"Is secured in the gun locker," Athos informed him, as removed the lanyard from his neck containing the two badges. Digging in his pocket, he drew out his shield as well as his SIPR token and placed them in a neat pile on Treville's desk.

Treville rose from his chair and walked around his desk, holding out his hand to Athos, who took it and gave it a perfunctory shake. "Maybe you could go work for a private firm," Treville suggested, even though he knew it was a false hope.

The side of Athos' mouth quirked, as he knowingly gazed at his boss. "Let's not fool ourselves. Any firm that is contracted to the government to do the type of work I _specialize_ in requires a clearance. Something I will never be allowed to possess again."

Sighing, Treville dropped all pretenses knowing it is what the man standing in front of him would want. "No. You're right. You are done in this business. But you are smart and talented. I'm sure you will figure out something else in life you are passionate about."

 _No, Athos thought. Serving my country was what I was born and bred to do. I can trace my ancestry back to the famed Musketeers of France. A proud heritage of military men stretching back centuries, now broken by my pathetic drunken self. My life is over._

However, he plastered the closest thing he had to a smile on his face and insincerely replied, "I'm sure I shall." Both men knew he was lying, but there was no use belaboring the point.

"It has been honor and a pleasure working for you, Sir," Athos declared formally, as he straightened his back and stood tall. "I will let you to get back to your work."

Turning on his heel, Athos marched to the door, flung it opened, and moved into the hallway. Two armed guards flanked him, as he headed towards his own office. As the trio moved down the industrial looking corridors with wire racks suspended from the black ceilings carrying the miles of cables that were the lifeblood of the building, Athos saw heads pop up like moles from the cubical farm. Even in a building where most employees were authorized to carry weapons, an armed escort still made eyebrows rise.

Once in his office, Athos placed all his government provided electronics neatly on his desk to include his Blackberry, sled, tablet, laptop and all the assorted keys to his cabinets. The guards stood one inside the door, and one outside, watching and waiting. As Athos went to walk out his office door, the guard standing inside gave him a questioning glance.

"I need a box. There is a printer across the hall. We keep paper stored underneath it and usually there is an empty box," Athos patiently explained, knowing the guard was only doing his job.

With a curt nod, the guard let Athos proceed, though the one outside the door watched him like a hawk as he emptied a box of paper, neatly stack the red, white, and blue wrapped bundles under the printer, before returning with the empty container.

Once back in his office, it didn't take him long to pack his meager personal items. He wasn't a sentimental man and kept few trinkets around him. There was a small framed picture of his team that he picked up and tenderly ran a finger over its slightly dusty surface. Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan, his brothers, closer to him than his own flesh and blood. They would now be forced to disassociate with him for he had been deemed a security risk by the all-mighty Government, not that the ruling was wrong. He was a risk. A class one risk. The type in the online training scenarios you always knew to click yes on. Under the influence, he might divulge classified data thereby compromising the lives and security of the nation he swore under oath to serve and protect.

Placing the picture gently in the box, he wondered how he would survive without them. Or perhaps the right question was did he want to? As if his thoughts drew them to him, the three magically appeared in his doorway. The guard put a warning hand on his weapon causing Porthos to bristle, but a word from Athos had the big man backing down.

"They are doing their job, Porthos."

"Can we at least have a moment alone?" Aramis questioned, but both the guard and Athos shook their heads.

"There is nothing to say. My clearance has been revoked and therefore my position here."

His three brothers began to talk at once, but Athos held up a hand to silence them. "There is nothing to fight. I brought this on myself with my irresponsible drinking. You all _know_ this is a correct decision by the powers that be. I would do no less to anyone in my unit in the same situation."

"But if you go to rehab, get sober?" D'Artagnan started to say, but Athos stopped him with a sad smile and a head shake. The boy hadn't been in the government long enough to lose his youthful optimism, something Athos had always admired in the lad.

"It is over." The finality in which Athos uttered those words sent shivers down his brother's spines.

D'Artagnan deflated like a balloon. Athos let his eye roam over to his other two brothers, who gazed at him sadly knowing the undeniable truth when they heard it. God knows they had tried for years to turn him from his destructive path, but his demons were too strong for even their love.

Giving them a small, tight smile, he formally stated, "Gentlemen, it has been an honor and a privilege to work with you."

Much to Athos' and the guard's dismay, suddenly the three men enveloped Athos in a hug, which nearly brought Athos to tears and made it hard for the guard to observe his charge.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder so hard, Athos was afraid it might pop out of its socket, something that had occurred in the field twice. "This is wrong," he growled in Athos' ear. "You have given your life for your country many times over. Hell, you have nearly died more times than I can count in her defense."

D'Artagnan had his head buried in Athos' other shoulder and he could feel the boy's tears soaking through his designer, dress shirt. The boy was too shook up to speak.

Aramis ruffled his unruly hair and kissed him on both cheeks, before placing his hands on either side of Athos' head and forcing the man to look at him. Brown eyes bore into green and a silent conversation was conducted before Aramis verbalized his final thoughts. "You are a _good_ man, Athos. Don't let this destroy you. We will _always_ be here for you."

Athos stared at Aramis for a moment before he extracted himself from the embrace, picked up his box, and walked out of his office. The guards fell in step along side of him again, as Athos headed for Personnel to fill out the never-ending government paperwork. When Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan tried to trail after their team lead and the two guards, one solider stopped and politely suggested that they return to work. The three men stood silently in the hall as Athos and his escort disappeared into the elevator.

"He'll be ok, won't he?" D'Artagnan asked, as the industrial grey doors of the elevator whisked his mentor and friend away.

"He's strong. He's survived worse. Besides, he's still got us. Just outside of work." But even Porthos knew his words were lame and unrealistic. Their work would never allow the companionship outside the office.

Aramis, who had the most medical and psychological training of the group, knew what he had seen in Athos' eyes and it frightened him to the very core of his being. He sent a small prayer to God to stay his brother from doing anything stupid. "I suggest we all quickly submit our resignations and be waiting to greet our brother as he exits the building. I fear leaving him alone," Aramis bluntly declared, in a tone that scared his brothers.

"Well, they took his gun," D'Artagnan helpfully said, as they headed back to their computers to complete another piece of government paperwork.

"And the one he wears on his ankle?" Aramis said pointedly, causing them all to quicken their pace.

Athos efficiently completed the required paperwork terminating his employment for the government, to include the exit survey, which the nice lady handed him with an apologetic glance. In the reason why box, he was tempted to write 'my own stupidity', but he refrained and simply wrote dismissed.

Clutching the official yellow manila envelope secured with the metal closure tab, Athos headed towards the elevators with his escort in tow. On the ground floor, he exited and let his eyes gaze one last time around the lobby, finally coming to rest on the flag of his country, the one he had sworn faithfully to serve and he had failed, like so many other things in his life.

The gun he kept in his ankle hostler rubbed against his skin. He hadn't exactly lied to Treville as his service weapon was in the locker. The one on his leg was a personal piece that his team knew he wore as a backup, but not his boss. He had used it many times to save lives, but now he might use it for another purpose.

With a polite nod to his escort, he departed through the glass, front doors into the afternoon sunshine. Squinting, he realized the blindingly, white sidewalk in front of the building was devoid of life, not unusual given the time of day. Still, a small part of him had hoped _they_ would be here. The gun pressed even harder into his leg, as if to scold him for his delusional thoughts.

Shifting the box, he followed the cement to the crosswalk, then across the blacktop to where his car was parked. His mind was already running scenarios on how to best proceed to wrap things up. He wouldn't leave a mess behind for anyone. Neat and tidy. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't even realize that he suddenly had three shadows.

Opening the hatch on his luxury SUV, he shoved the box in the rear then pushed the button to make the lid close. As he turned, he nearly had a heart attack when he came face-to-face with his three brothers. His normally, well-schooled face registered his shock as he stood there gaping at them.

"Little early for lunch, isn't it?" Porthos asked, with a grin. "But what the hell, I'm always up for food."

"I second that," D'Artagnan agreed. "Shot gun!" The boy suddenly sprinted for the passenger door.

"Oh no you don't," Porthos contradicted, as he took off after the boy leaving Athos and Aramis standing alone behind the car.

Athos had accidentally locked the SUV's doors when the three men had startled him, so D'Artagnan and Porthos weren't able to open the passenger door. Instead, they each stood with a hand on the door's handle, waiting for the familiar click.

"Give me the gun, Athos," Aramis quietly said. "It's not the way."

Time stood still for Aramis as he prayed to God that his love for his brother was enough to stop him from his destructive behavior. Tense minutes passed before Athos finally bent over, unstrapped the piece, and gave it to Aramis.

"I don't know how to go on," a broken Athos confessed to his brother.

"You can and you will, for your death would destroy us all."

Quietly, Porthos and D'Artagnan had come back around the vehicle. Porthos stuck out his giant hand that had more than once saved the lives of the men around him. D'Artagnan, the newest of the group, but already a firm brother placed his on top. Aramis, the man who had cared for their bodies and souls, added his elegant hand to the pile. All eyes expectantly rested on the face of their leader.

"I have failed you all," the mournful man said, keeping his arm by his side. "I'm not deserving."

"We have all failed at one time or another," D'Artagnan pointed out.

"And we have all recovered," Porthos added. "Together. As a team."

"And we will never let you go. We are your _brothers._ " Aramis cocked his head to the side. "Your hand goes on top of ours."

Reluctantly, Athos placed his hand on the top of the pile.

"All for one," Porthos intoned.

"And one for all," they finished.

After a solemn moment, they dropped their hands and headed towards Athos' car, Porthos and D'Artagnan being relegated to the back seat by Aramis who claimed shot gun.

"Now, let's talk about our next career," Aramis declared, as he climbed in and drew the door shut. "I have always fancied owning a retail shop, perhaps hats."

The End.


End file.
